


fire up the mistletoe

by jywait



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Magically charmed mistletoe, Mistletoe, Pining, isnt pining america cute, what do you mean it aint christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jywait/pseuds/jywait
Summary: America hosts a Christmas party, and England notices the weirdly huge amount of mistletoe.~“Wait,” England frowned, “you knew there was magically charmed mistletoe in the kitchen but still dragged me there?”





	fire up the mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> i’m not waiting till christmas to post this  
> hmu on jywait on tumblr! id love to hear what you think!

“Hey, everyone!” America cheered, “Welcome to my house! Have a merry Christmas!” The crowd cheered, and England vaguely thinks Finland was way too loud.

America held a microphone in his hand, playing the role of both the entertainer and host at the same time. He had decorated his large penthouse in rows of Christmas tinsel, and a top large tree stood in the middle of the room, dressed in bells and tiny figurines. There were stacks of presents underneath the tree, probably from the Secret Santa America had insisted be a thing, and there were a cheer hanging through the air.

England avoided the crowd, heading straight for the bottles of wine when he had went in America’s house, and pouring himself a glass, then leaving for the second floor and taking a seat around one of America’s tables.

“England! C’mon, the party’s right there! Aren’t ya gonna join in?” America said from behind him, and England turned to watch the other approach him. America had dressed in a nice blue suit, which fitted him and showed his figure quite nicely. America took the seat opposite of him, and had a clear view of the floor beneath them, a glass panel between him and the view of the first floor.

“No thank you,” England said, taking a sip, making a noise of annoyance when America took the glass away from him. “Oi, git, my drink,” he complained.

America clicked his tongue at him. “Don’t get drunk too quickly, bro, I don’t wanna see you get naked and just fall asleep.” England felt a tinge of outrage. “I’m not like that!” He argued, but America laughed at his words, his gaze on the heads of the people downstairs. His hair seemed to glow, and his smile was a sort of gentle that sent a thrill up England’s spine. He must be tired.

A commotion drew his attention then, and he saw Romano punch Spain, then ran off, a hand over his mouth. Spain was grinning, slightly flushed, despite being hit, and England wondered why, until his eyes went to the mistletoe on the ceiling.

Then his eyes landed on the rows and rows of mistletoe. Why was there so much mistletoe? _There was more mistletoe than ceiling_ , England thought, and cautiously looked up, somehow both thankfully and regretfully, saw nothing between his and America’s heads. There was a twig of mistletoe about a meter away, though. He almost wanted mistletoe between them, just so he could have an excuse to kiss America without being pushed away and rejected.

America downed England’s drink, his fingers tapping on the table loudly. “So,” America started, eyes not meeting his despite addressing him, “how are ya finding the party?”

England hummed thoughtfully. “Not bad, just a little too loud,” he admitted, “and my drink had been monopolised by the host too,” he snarked, flashing an almost teasing grin at the other. America smiled back, “Heh, sorry about that,” he said, not sounding very sorry.

England paid it no mind, turning back to observing the other countries mindlessly. There was...a lot of kissing, and some that seemed too dangerous than should be continued. A terrified-looking Prussia was kissing Liechtenstein on the cheek and Switzerland looked murderous. Couldn’t they just not kiss if Prussia didn’t want to be killed right there?

“Nope,” America said, startling England, who realised belatedly that he had spoken aloud, “the mistletoes are charmed so anyone under them have to kiss or else they can’t leave.”

“Why the bloody hell would you do that?” England furrowed his brows, but America only shrugged. “Eh, for fun?”

England rolled his eyes, making note to not step within a meter radius of a mistletoe, though that might be hard with the vast amount of mistletoe there were. “How’d you get that done, anyways?”

“Hm, magic,” America replied vaguely, and England frowned a little. Surely America could have turned to him if he had wanted magic, but England hadn’t been asked anything of the sort at all. England felt a little miffed, but his pride wasn’t going to let him ask the other why not him.

“Anyways,” America said, holding England’s arm, “you gotta live a little, man, let’s go party!” He pulled England to his feet, uncaring for England’s little stumble, and started pulling him downstairs. “America, I’d much rather not,” England started, scowling when America shushed him unrelentingly.

A shiver ran through him, and for some odd reason, England stepped to his left, pulling his arm away from America. Confused, he met America’s slightly confused and...disappointed (?) face. England had instinctively moved away from America, and he couldn’t realise why.

He looked up then, and saw the mistletoe he had spotted before above where he would’ve been under had he not stepped to the side. _The hell?_ He thought offhandedly, putting the situation in the back of his head and walking around the mistletoe to America. America’s look of disappointment seemed to have disappeared, and he merely continued to pull England along.

“America...” England gritted out, but America sent him a dazzling grin that made England’s thoughts trail to a stop. “Indulge me, England,” America asked softly, a sort of mirth and something else twinkling in his eyes. Damnit, England was weak to those puppy eyes.

“I’m not dancing,” England insisted, but let himself be let to the first floor, where it seemed countries were kissing nonstop.

“AMERICA!” Prussia shrieked, “WHY IS THERE SO MUCH MISTLETOE?” America barked out a laugh at Prussia’s affronted face, not giving a answer. Or a fuck.

America pulled England into a corner, where the whole room was observable but the crowd generally distant. Thank god, England thought, closing his eyes serenely for a second as he was dragged to the corner. He ignored the warmth of America’s skin on his.

England’s eyes flew open, and he moved to the right. “Wha-“ America started, but crashed into an invisible wall.

England watched, confused, as America seemed to be trapped in with Russia, who also seemed lost. England looked up, and choked on his saliva. Mistletoe, above America’s and Russia’s heads.

“The hell?” America said, ludicrous, as if he wasn’t the one who made this happen in the first place. “America, what is this?” Russia inquired, seemingly politely.

England’s lips twitched up into a smile. “Mistletoe,” he answered, pointing at the ceiling, restraining the urge to laugh at the sight of America’s increasingly pale face. Russia looked alarmed. “America, why?” Russia knocked against the invisible wall, frown deepening.

“I- _This was not what I planned_ ,” America growled lowly.

“Planned?” Both England and Russia asked in unison. America seemed to turn pink. “Nothing! I can’t believe I have to kiss you!” America wailed, and England rolled his eyes.

“You brought this on yourself,” England replied. Russia’s smile turned dark.

America gulped, and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, seemingly battling with himself internally. “Ugh, whatever,” he scowled eventually, and pecked Russia on the lips.

Both England and Russia flinched, Russia out of sheer shock and England from the sudden spike of pain in his chest. America, meanwhile, rubbed his lips in disgust, face scrunched up. “Ew, communism,” he said, trying to get rid of the taste of Russia’s lips on his.

“I’m abstaining from pork from now on,” Russia said in retaliation, ignoring America’s cry of outrage and walking off.

England was still trying to forget the image of America planting one on Russia. The image stirred up...uncomfortable feelings that England would rather not name. “Can you believe that guy?” America was saying, annoyance prominent in the curve of his brows, while England dismissed him. “Yes, yes, unbelievable,” he said curtly, very much wanting a drink as of now. America turned his gaze towards him in concern, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but closing it again, looking away.

The silence hung between them awkwardly, and was it not for the sheer noise the other countries were making, it would be harder to stand, being quiet and unwilling to look at one another.

England glanced at the time on the clock. It was half past 9, and England hadn’t gone blindingly drunk yet. Achievement.

“England,” America called. England paused in his pursuit of alcohol. The tension strung between them broke. “Yes?”

America looked down for a second, then startled England with his sudden enthusiasm. He looked much like a puppy, England thought idly. “Let’s go get a drink!” He said cheerily, pulling by the curve of his wrist. Somehow, America seemed to be touching him so much today, not that England was against it or anything.

England let America pull him, weirdly indulgent. Must be the allure of alcohol loosening his restraints and allowing his peaceful mood. The music of the party quietened the further America dragged him away from the centre of things, bringing him in to the kitchen where the conversation were softer.

England felt the same coldness pass through him again, and caused him to stop into his tracks. America stumbled by his sudden lack of movement, and bumped into Liechtenstein, who let out a light gasp of surprise. “Oh! Mr America!” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes even as America’s face grew steadily pale.

Somehow already knowing the answer, England looked up, and saw mistletoe, again. America was as white as a ghost. “Fuck me,” America whimpered. Switzerland’s looming presence hovered over him.

“I’ll go prepare your funeral,” England said solemnly, backing away from the screaming Switzerland and the begging-for-mercy America.

~

America nursed the bruise on his forehead, whining softly as he approached England who had been leaning against the wall whilst watching the situation unfold. “Why did Switzerland have to hit so hard?” America wailed, rubbing the bruise, which was a concerning purple.

“This is your own fault,” England said mercilessly, “You didn’t even have to kiss her on the lips,” England continued.

America looked up. “What? Yeah, I did,” he said, and England furrowed his brows. “Then why could Prussia just kiss her on the cheek?” This didn’t make any sense.

“Oh,” America said, “uh, there’s two kinds of mistletoe I got charmed,” he explained, “one only requires a kiss anywhere, and the other...” America cleared his throat, blushing slightly, “has to be on the, um, lips.”

England stared at him blankly. “Why would you do that?”

America turned even more red. “Well- Never mind that! Here’s your drink!” He said, clearly embarrassed, and nearly slammed a glass of wine that England just realised the other had held.

“Oh. Thank you,” England said, mildly surprised and sipping the wine, while America sighed, his blush becoming a little less pronounced, but still obvious to England who was far too close to him.

“Wait,” England frowned, “you knew there was magically charmed mistletoe in the kitchen but still dragged me there?”

America flushed immediately, and England swallowed thickly, when he thought of the other’s actions throughout the night, it was akin to the last puzzle piece falling into place, the puzzle painting a picture of something he’s wanted.

America rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh- Well-“ America stumbled over his words, and England felt delight rise up in him at the other’s clear sudden shyness. England isn’t sure, but with the way the night has gone, the looks America had sent him once in a while, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t wrong after all.

England pulled himself off the wall, a thrill of excitement thrumming though his veins. He glanced up for a second to find the nearest mistletoe, and suppressed a grin when he saw one barely two meters away. America was still avoiding his eyes, and England, feeling pity and anticipation, held America’s arm and pulled him as he headed towards the mistletoe.

“England- What are you-“ America’s words were muffled by England, who planted his lips on the others in a soft, gentle kiss. Luckily for England, America didn’t hesitate and immediately dropped into the kiss, kissing as if he was breathing his last breath and only England could revive him anew. They continued until England’s head started to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen, and pulled apart, a trail of saliva connecting their lips. America’s eyes were blown wide and his lips swollen, and he looked absolutely wrecked, cheek botched with red that undoubtably England also had. Any embarrassment England felt in that moment was lost at the utter love he saw in America’s eyes, and he couldn’t repress the grin that had spread across his face.

They stared at each other for a beat too long, only jumping apart when they heard a clap. They whipped their heads around and saw Norway, whose face was blank as he clapped almost sarcastically. “Whoo. You finally did it, America,” he said, monotonously. America turned pink, directing a beam at Norway, “Yeah! Thanks for the help, dude!”

England froze. “Wait, what?” America laughed shyly, “He helped me with this,” America explained, and England breathed in sharply, “gotta thank him for it, I guess.” God, that’s why-

“That’s why I kept dodging!” England blurted out, finally understanding why he had been feelings chills every time he had been about to walk beneath a twig of mistletoe, “Norway’s magic was different from mine!” He continued, berating himself internally for his negligence. To think, he considered himself quite good at magic, yet it had never once came to his mind to think a little more on what was happening. He had been too distracted by America’s warm touch and heated gazes.

America blinked, seeming surprised. “Are you serious?” He questioned, and turned to face Norway, who only gave a blank shrug in reply. “Norway!” America cried, “Did you already knew that this would happen?”

Norway levelled him with a blank stare, eyes twinkling in mischief. “Perhaps, but I thought it might be more fun to see you struggle,” he said, disappearing like magic before America could process his statement.

“Norway! You bastard!” America shouted, “I nearly got killed by Switzerland because of you!” England laughed at the outright offended look on America’s face.

“Next time,” England said consolingly, a grin on his lips despite himself, “leave the magic to me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you’d like! god i love usuk


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